After a long series of pre-flight tests, the Perspective rose from Cathdeny’s surface. A nearly audible sigh of relief resounded through the spacecraft as the passengers and crew congratulated each other at finally heading for home. The crew members on duty were so distracted that none of them noticed when Vishnu began transforming into Shiva. Nor did anyone notice that the Captain, the scientist, and their mates had not joined in the festivities; they were gathered in the captain’s quarters. They had been faced with an awesome decision and were now praying they had made the right choice.
Silently, in the pitch black void of space, hundreds of nearly invisible hatches opened on the surface of the Cathdenian satellite; metalic rods tipped with mirrored discs extended from each hatch to form a shining ring around the newly enlivened craft. Six larger mechanical appendages burst forth, four rising like arms from an area near one end of the hull, while two other protracted like legs from the opposite end of the satellite. Moments later, the discs flared to life as if activated by some unseen hand, each simultaneously emitting fulgent beams of deadly heat that burned inside the tiny spacecraft as it attempted to escape the gravity of Cathdeny.
The Shiva satellite now prepared to continue its dance of cosmic purification on a distant world called Earth, a purification based on the new instructions implemented by an entity that referred to itself as Chandrakhatami. His cleansing flames would purge that world too, rendering it pure for subsequent renewal by Brahma and Vishnu, another dire error of Nature corrected.
Famine Wood
After receiving several polite brushoffs and having a few doors slammed in their faces, two novice members of a religious group that recruited door-to-door were shocked to find themselves warmly welcomed by Abe Camden, an elderly gentleman who responded when they knocked upon the door of his somewhat isolated farmhouse. Not only did the man appear receptive to their pitch, he ushered them into the parlor, seated them both in an antique ‘love seat’ and invited them to present their well-rehearsed rhetoric. The farmer, thought the visitors, must be desperately lonely as everyone else they had approached had abruptly turned them away.
The pair bombarded Camden with religious information, then tried to draw him into a discussion of the finer points of their church’s teachings. But to their surprise, the initially quiet and patient old gent suddenly seized the conversational reigns. Before they realized what was happening, Camden had taken off at a verbal gallop that defied interruption.
“I’ve heard of Yahweh’s Children before, but you are the first I’ve ever met,” he began. “And I appreciate you young fellers coming all the way out to the middle of nowhere, especially considering Madland County’s reputation. Sometimes I think the great state of Ohio would be very relieved if this here county just up and disappeared!
“Now don’t let on like you don’t know what I’m talking about, ‘cos everybody’s heard rumors about how, shall I say, peculiar, the folks of Madland are, and I admit there’s a certain amount of truth to what they say!
“No sir, there ain’t many willing to venture into these parts, particularly not to spout religion to the locals! You see, folks ‘round here don’t cotton much to what you’d call traditional religion. We’ve got a church here, but I suspect you’d take exception to the liberties Reverend Petersen takes with the Lord’s word in his sermons.
“None of my family were churchgoers, so I’ve got to admit I never give much thought to religious matters. But after listening to you two, I’ll allow there’s a certain appeal in some of what you say. I’m particularly interested in the part o’ your spiel where God forgives even the worst of sinners when He’s asked to.”
The wizened old character paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, then chimed in again loudly at the first indication that either of his guests was about to make comment. “You see,” he continued, “something happened a number of years back that still weighs heavily on my mind. I just can’t seem to shake the memory of it, though I was not much more than a foolish teenager at the time. I know I’d feel a whole lot better if I just put it all behind me, but to date I haven’t been able to do that.
“If you boys wouldn’t mind listening, this might be a good opportunity to get some of it off my chest. They say confession’s good for the soul, and at my age a man’s got to fess up to his shortcomings least they haunt him all the way to the grave … and maybe even beyond.”
The two youthful guests glanced at each other nervously. The worm had obviously turned in an unanticipated direction. They had been instructed to maintain total control of the situation while peddling their propaganda, but they had never actually gotten this far before and thus had no idea how they might regain the upper hand. All they could really do was sit quietly and listen, least the old man think them rude. If they passively listened and observed, maybe they could discern some means to deal with such dilemmas in the future.
When his visitors did not protest, Camden smiled. “No doubt you never heard of Famine Wood, but that’s no surprise as folks don’t like to talk about the skeletons in their closets, and the people around here are no exception. Well, I don’t mind telling you about Famine Wood, but first I’m obliged to provide you with a bit of background.
“The first whites in the Ohio territory were nothing but trappers and fur traders, daring souls who risked their lives avoiding the various native tribes in hope of stockpiling enough cash to make good lives for themselves when they returned to more civilized parts back East. Still, there was one brave group of six families that lit out on the Ohio River to look for greener pastures. They made it all the way down here to the Mad River Valley before dropping stakes. Now this was right when the French and English were both finagling to claim Ohio for themselves. They were ruthless, turning the Indian tribes against each other ‘til it turned into a full-scale war, the French and Indian War. The Shawnee, Miamis, Wyandots, Delawares, Mingos and others were already fighting each other tooth-and-nail, not realizing they were being used by the Europeans to bolster their own claims to the territory. So when the six families arrived, they were all on their own in the midst of a wilderness war zone.
“The Miami tribe let them settle here but only in a part of the forest they considered unnatural. The Miamis claimed their ‘Master of Life’ had warned them to avoid that particular patch of wood ‘cos the spirit of the place was only half-formed and not willing to accept intruders. The Shawnee held the territory before the Miamis, and they too claimed their ‘Great Spirit’ had warned them away from the place for the very same reasons. So the Indians didn’t mind white families as long as they restricted themselves to the wood they themselves considered off-limits. The settlers were neither French nor English, but the Indians figured the spirit would surely make short work of them. And, as it turned out, that proved to be the case.”
Camden paused to settle in his seat, confident his listeners were becoming caught up in his tale. He continued, “Everything went pretty well for the newcomers ‘til 1762, about a year before the end of the war. Crops failed throughout the entire Ohio Valley due to a terrible drought, and it wasn’t long after that famine set in. To top it all off, both the Indians and the Europeans began to drop like flies from the smallpox. The Miamis turned to the English since they’d helped them send the French packing, but the Brits ignored them. The Miami’s in turn didn’t give a hoot when the settlers looked to them for aid. Before winter was over, every member of the six families had either starved to death or succumbed to the killing force of the cold.
“The British settlers that came along later found the wretched remains of the six families and buried their bodies right where they lay. They vamoosed out of there right after, claiming something about some of the bodies didn’t look quite natural. Even later, when more whites moved into Valley, they heard enough spooky stories to stay clear of the Wood where the families were buried. A cloud of superstition hung over the place. Some said the soil was tainted, having soaked up the excruciating hunger of those who
starved to death, and that’s how the place came to be called Famine Wood.
“It wasn’t until more than a score of decades later, during the Civil War, that anyone actually entered Famine Wood again. Word got around that a rogue troop of Confederate soldiers had been spotted in the area, and they probably saw the Wood as a good place to hide out while they’d planned some mischief. They were seen marching into the Wood, but nary a one of them ever came out. It was like they just vanished into thin air!”
The speaker halted to clear his throat before plunging back into his narrative. “My buddies and I weren’t old enough to have good sense, and we were curious about the yarns we’d heard concerning the Wood. We didn’t believe in ghosts, so despite the warnings, we were stupid enough to decide we’d go out there and take a look around just for the heck of it.
“Me, Roscoe Masters and Tom Tucker had grown up together, so we were more like brothers than friends. Heck, it was Roscoe that first showed me a man’s pecker was good for more than just draining his bladder! But it was Tuck and me that ended up fooling around two, three times, ‘til I got tired of such shenanigans. Tuck didn’t want to give it up, but, well, I got this sudden interest in girls. Roscoe swore Tuck never got over me and, mind you, though I wouldn’t have hurt the lad for worlds, I just considered it puppy love. Well, no doubt you know how it is with us fellers at that age!”
Noting the scandalized expressions on the faces of those he addressed, he further remarked, “Then again, judging from the set of your mugs, maybe you don’t know. Don’t know at all!” The old man laughed uproariously.
While Jim struggled to regain composure that he might offer some intelligent response, Mike maintained his dumbstruck silence. Jim finally tendered awkwardly, “Ah, so you, ah, committed the sin of homosexuality and that’s what’s been haunting you all these years?”
Camden hooted, “Hell, no! There ain’t no sin in chums getting intimate! Tuck and I shared everything; I mean everything, and I don’t regret it for an instant. The bond we forged was a rare and precious one that neither one of us ever regretted!” Agitated now, he closed his eyes and shook his head. “I guess I shouldn’t of brought it up,” he harrumphed, “I just felt it necessary to emphasize the fact that Tuck and me were as close as two folks could be.”
Seeing the way the two inched away from each other in the love seat, the frowning Camden continued his narration. “Anyways, Roscoe picked me and Tuck up at my folks’ place around noon that day, and we took a round-about dirt road to the Wood so none would suspect we were going there. Not that anybody would have tried to stop us if they’d seen us; they’d have just figured we were out of our minds and left it at that.
“Roscoe parked the truck ‘neath a nest of trees right up next to the seven-foot storm fence that closes ‘round the eight or nine acres of Famine Wood. Just who put that consarned fence there is anybody’s guess; it’s been there since long before anyone can recall different. All around the Wood is open pasture, so we guessed the fence was meant to keep livestock from straying into the Wood. But we were soon to learn the hard way that there was a damn sight more to it than that!”
The speaker lowered his voice and paused to observe his guests momentarily. As expected, both remained silent, obviously intrigued by the unraveling tale.
“That darn fence was a bitch to get over. Storm fences are made of real fine metal mesh that’s meant to catch debris so as to clog up when there’s a flood; that way it acts like a damn to keep back the water. It’s pretty flimsy, though, and wobbles like crazy when a body tries to climb over it. The outside was clean but for rust, as you’d expect, but the inside was bound tight with vines and brambles enough to hide pretty near every inch of the actual fence. Seemed like more was trying to get out than trying to get into the place.
“Once inside, everything changed. The Wood’s a shadowy, sinister kind of place where nature’s turned all dark and brooding. Put me in the mind of some kind of ancient, evil womb.
“Right off we saw the trees were bigger than any we’d ever seen, and a dang sight older too. The bases of some of those giants were as big around as houses and the trunks were twisted and deformed something awful. For sure none had suffered the hand of man since the time of those doomed first settlers. The boughs of those trees met way up above, locking together like spooky fingers serving to blot out as much sunlight as possible. What feeble light managed to filter through lent a nasty, kind of jaundiced glow to that awful place. The air was stagnant, still and muggy, making every move a sweating effort. We got the feeling right off that the place was watching us, ready to pounce at the first opportunity. I admit I had to fight to keep from turning tail and heading for the openness still visible on the other side of the fence.
“Aside from the buzzing of insects, it was unnaturally quiet in there too, like a graveyard at night. Not a single bird sang in the whole place, and we never saw any kind of animal either, which was awful strange. There should have been squirrels, rabbits and chipmunks everywhere in a wood as wild as that, but we didn’t see hide nor hair of a single creature the whole time we were there, not even a ‘coon nor a ‘possum. We couldn’t help but feel we were trespassing where we ought not to be, but we still kept going.
“Darn near every inch of the boggy ground was covered with a layer of dead, rotting leaves to a depth of better than a foot in most places, and more leaves were constantly raining down from above, like sallow snowflakes gliding silently through the air. There wasn’t much in the way of grass or weeds able to penetrate the leaf blanket, though fungus, moss and toadstools grew all over everything else. And since it was warmer inside the Wood than outside, there were bugs everywhere, flies and gnats. Even the mosquitoes were bold enough to be out and biting in the daylight. What with the yellow light, mugginess and eerie quiet, there was a hatefulness about the place that didn’t sit well with us at all.
“But we’d come to explore, and, sure enough, it wasn’t long before we came across the remnants of some of those first settlers’ cabins. Not that there was much left after all that time but a couple boulder chimneys and piles of decaying logs. One site had three walls still standing, and with a bit of kicking around, Tuck exposed a section of crude flagstone flooring that remained intact. The highest of the walls only came to about shoulder level and, of course, nothing was left of the roof.
“Roscoe struck out on his own, but it wasn’t long before Tuck and I heard him let out a yelp. We went running to see what the problem was, only to find him stuck half in the ground, nearly up to his waist, screaming and cursing like all get out.
“Seems those that buried the dead settlers just sort of packaged them up in cheap pine boxes and plugged them in the ground right where they fell, and none were buried too deeply. Roscoe had stepped on one of the makeshift coffins and his foot went right through the rotten wood. His leg was cut up but he’d only started screaming when he tore the lid off the box as he tried to pull free. When his weight was applied to the old bones inside, the top half of the skeleton rose up as if to grab him, the round yellow skull lolling to and fro on the tip of the spine. The sight of the damned thing scared Roscoe nearly half to death, it did! It took some finagling, but we eventually pried him loose, calmed him down and stopped the bleeding. It was obvious to Tuck and me that the main bone in the lower half of Roscoe’s leg was badly broken, so we couldn’t expect him to walk.
“Well, the two of us heaved and hauled him over to that three-sided cabin I mentioned, but he griped so much about the pain and how the hardness of the stone floor made it worse that we finally lugged him outside the shelter and propped him up against the trunk of an ancient oak. We used a bottle of cheap gin that Tuck always toted around with him to disinfect the wound, but neither of us knew how to set the bone.
“Tuck had the best sense of direction in the bunch, so he lit out for the truck, thinking he’d drive on in and pick us up rather than the two of us carrying Roscoe. If he couldn’t find a hole in the fence, he’d find
a means to lay it down somewhere and just drive the truck right over it. All Roscoe and I had to do was stay put.
“I parked my butt on the dead log near Roscoe, thinking I’d make a comfy spot for myself by stripping the bark off the trunk. But when I pulled off a hunk, I saw there was a whole slew of bugs lurking beneath, frenzy-feasting on the wood. More ants, grubs, beetles, and mites scrambled off that log than you could shake a stick at; the mass of them had chewed and riddled the wood so much it reminded me more of pulp mush than the remains of a tree. It was enough to make a body’s skin crawl, so I chose to plop down a few feet away, on the hard flagstone of the old cabin.”
The man lowered and shook his aged head as he emitted exasperated sounds. “Shouldn’t a taken him long to get back, but it was over an hour before I heard Tuck shuffling through the leaves.
“I started to ask why he hadn’t brought the truck, but the puzzled look on his face silenced me. He grumbled about how walking straight in any direction should bring a body to the fence sooner or later, but it didn’t in the Wood. No matter which direction he went, he ended up confused and all turned around until he finally ended up right back here where he’d started. He said he’d felt light-headed and dizzy, but he was still sure he’d been going straight in one direction. I recall him saying it was almost as if the space within the fence was distorted in a way meant to keep anyone from leaving once they were inside, like it was some kind of trap.
“Sounded like nonsense to me, but the sun was going down, leaving us no choice other than to drop stakes for the night right there. We assured Roscoe we’d get him to a doctor first thing in the morning, but he’d gone all quiet, like he was in shock. Tuck and I built a decent fire, then doled out the sorry sandwiches and snacks we’d brought before settling in for the night. Tuck and I decided we’d rather sleep on the cabin floor than stretch out on the open ground, regardless of the hardness of the stone. We’d given up trying to move Roscoe inside with us by then, but we figured he’d be okay since he was only a few feet away from where we settled.
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